


I Love My Murderer

by pumpkinxspice



Series: I Love My Murderer [1]
Category: 50 Shades of Grey - E. L. James
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, D/s, F/M, Friendship, Murder, Powerplay, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-29 14:10:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8492761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pumpkinxspice/pseuds/pumpkinxspice
Summary: "I Love My Murderer" is a 50 Shades of Grey fan fiction inspired by what could have happened if Christian Grey's sexual deviance veered more toward the twisted and the depraved, rather than Anastasia slowly healing him from past trauma. Instead, Anastasia is sucked into the twisted world of Christian Grey and his perversions nearly cost her, her life.





	1. The Interview

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to SicTheWolf because I told her I would write her a book about sex, BDSM, and serial killers.

Most people don’t think about how they might die. If you’re lucky maybe you’ll go out with your life really meaning something. You save a school bus full of kids, you push a person out of the way just in time, or you donate a vital organ when you know you won’t survive.

It isn’t until my body is drenched in blood I even realize what’s happening. There’s someone lying on top of me and my hands are cuffed to the edge of the bed. I have blood dripping down my chest and soaking my white blouse that’s been torn open half way. I look up and all I can see this close to losing consciousness are a set of piercing blue eyes.

“It’s okay, Anastasia. I’m here.”

Most people don’t think about how they might end up killing someone either.

 

**One Year Earlier**

“Right this way, Miss Kavanagh.”

I followed a prim and proper blonde to a set of steel elevator doors passing right by a sleek plaque reading _Grey Enterprises._ I thought, maybe, my disguise with Kate’s jewelry, wardrobe, and her insistence on curling my hair into perfection might have given me the false confidence I needed to pretend to be a reporter. As the elevator rushed up to the top floor with dizzying speed I questioned why I agreed to this meeting in the first place.

I step out into a massive foyer with a long desk where two assistants sit. Both blonde, both beautiful--Am I interviewing an entrepreneur or Hugh Hefner? Look, I’ve got nothing wrong with seeing other girls in corporate positions like these, but this place feels a lot more like a barbie doll house than a 55-story office building dedicated to expansion in global business, agriculture, and telecommunication. Does he hire any male staff or is he just collecting trophies?

I should have dressed down. As I approach yet another desk which feels like an unnecessary level of security, I unpin the updo Kate slaved over and let my frumpy brown mass of hair be the wild nest that it is. If I’m going to stand out I guess I need to be a plain Jane.

“I’m here to interview Christian Grey. I’m Katherine Kavanagh from Washington State University Vancouver.”

I’ve practiced this line so many times in the mirror I almost sound professional rambling it off to the woman in front of me.

“You’re early. He’ll be pleased,” The assistant--I catch her name tag reading Carol Bush--reassures me.

Good thing I’m not here to please him, Carol. I’m here to pick him apart if Kate’s ridiculous line of questioning she made me rehearse is anything to go by.

“I make a point to always have a good first impression. I hope Mr. Grey will continue to do business with our column.”

I don’t wait for her to open the door to his office. Instead, I see myself in, running on the short-lived boost of confidence I have until I see this guy standing in front of a large window, the Seattle rain drenched skyline in the backdrop.

He’s gorgeous, or maybe that suit just does him justice. I’ve always been jealous of men polishing up so well that I started being fond of wearing suits myself.

He’s wearing Armani and I’m wearing Kate’s Christian Dior black and white suit, italian cut yet made for women to wear with these black pumps that are challenging my balance. I wish I had worn flats.

I walk forward, setting my shoulders back to get another few centimeters on my five feet and eight inches to his six foot two.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Grey.”

“Likewise, Miss Kavanagh.”

 _Yes!_ He bought it! He hasn’t seen a picture of her, and I feel at ease all over again. I can’t help noticing some slight smirk in his expression and I’m wondering if I’ve made some sort of social faux pas already in just introducing myself.

“Sit,” He waves a hand toward two chairs opposite each other. “Make yourself comfortable. You’ve got your full ten minutes.”

Alright, Anastasia, make those minutes damn well count. Kate needs these and there is no way I’m going back empty handed after getting this far. Clumsily, I set out the digital recorder in between us and take out my shabby scratch pad of paper.

“You’re a twenty-seven year old CEO, a multi-millionaire, and have been named man of the year by Time Magazine,” I prompt, trying to earn a little credibility in doing my research.

“Public knowledge, Kathrine.”

He doesn’t seem the least bit impressed, but I can’t lose my edge.

“I’m not interested in how you’ve cultivated success, Christian. I’m interested in why someone so young wants to outshine even the Koch Brothers, but he chooses agriculture of all industries to invest in when your primary business assets are in the telecommunications sector of the market.”

This part I’m good at. I don’t like it when people think I can’t keep up so my mouth gets ahead of me before my brain can think of a more polite way to phrase things.

“Shouldn’t the answer be obvious?” He muses, finally taking the chair beside me. Up close I can get a better look at him and he is a tall glass of water I’d like to drink. Too bad he is way out of my league and this is strictly for business.

“You’re not auditioning for Miss America. I’m conducting an interview and I doubt you’re all that interested in feeding the hungry all across the globe,” I can’t help being cynical. People with money and power always act as if they’ve got some secret the rest of us don’t know about. They’re somehow benefitting so many lives by simply existing. If he isn’t going to give me a straight answer I’m not going to give him the conversational mobility to claim he has a noble cause with his company.

“That’s precisely what our innovations aim to do. We’ve developed crops that can exist in harsh conditions from the blazing desert sun to an icy tundra, improved the method and cost local farmers use to bolster their own business within the area, and we’ve decreased commercial game waste by 4% in the last five years,” His tirade has me falling silent, looking ashamed.

“So you do care.”

“Absolutely.”

“Why?” I’ve stopped looking at my notes and he’s noticed. I don’t have any cleavage in this suit so I doubt he has much else to look down at other than my pen completely still on my pad of paper.

“It’s important to me,” He answers, finally, after a long pause. His gaze returns to mine and I have the gall to keep it. He isn’t going to intimidate me if that’s what he thinks he’s doing.

“Just as important as the 150,000 jobs I’ve given all the employees staffed in this building after expanding my company as far as I have. Good business is self sustaining. Nothing can afford to be wasted.”

I smile to myself, scratching down a note finally. I think I have an angle for Kate’s article and she is going to go nuts about it.

“A millionaire with a heart of gold. You have to have a partner in this.”

“I’m not seeing anyone.”

I must have looked so confused for him to burst into a chuckle. I think I like him better when he smiles. Enigmatic corporate executive isn’t much for conversation.

“Are you gay?”

This time he laughs and my cheeks light up fire engine red.

“From time to time,” He sounds lackadaisical I can’t help but think he might be yanking my chain.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“I don’t date, Miss Kavanagh. I hardly see what that has to do with my company.”

He is right. We’re getting a little off topic. I try to save face in clearing my throat and glancing back down to the pre-written question list I have to search for guidance. It’s the tell that gives me away. Reporters don’t stall for questions and here I am trying to rifle through to get something useful.

“I have question for you,” He interrupts my thoughts and I immediately look up, wide eyed and a little nervous.

“Go ahead.”

“What’s your real name?”

I guess it was only a matter of time until I got caught. Kate and I don’t really make the best doppelgangers, but I thought I was home free when he still addressed me as my best friend. He didn’t seem to know the difference when I came into the room.

“Anastasia Steele.”

I choose honesty over keeping this charade going any longer.

“Katherine is sick with the flu and she asked me to interview you. I don’t like to disappoint my friends as much as you don’t like to see resources go to waste.”

Christian stands, approaching me. He towers over me but I try not to let it phase me.

“I’d like to show you something, now that you’ve stopped lying.”

“You knew--”

“You’re not exactly the blonde, cutthroat journalist who blew up my assistants’ phones for several week straight fighting tooth and nail for this interview. I didn’t have to guess.”

Defeated, I push myself up out of my chair, notebook in hand. It’s only that last second I turn to grab the digital recorder, but his hand catches my wrist.

“You won’t need it. This is something you’ll have to take pictures of rather than record,” I don’t know if I trust his smile and the iron grip he has on my wrist that almost bruises. I yank myself free and straighten my tie.

“After you, Christian.”

He sits me down at his desk while he leans over the back of the chair clicking through a few files on his computer until an image pops up. They look like construction plans.

“On the outskirts of the city is a sector of abandoned buildings we are planning to demolish and cultivate back into land the agriculture industry can expand into.”

“This is incredible!”

“It is, and your friend is going to be the first one to exclusively report on it.”

I’m floored. Maybe I can make a good impression after all. If I can get my hands on even copies of this--I’ve hit the jackpot and I hope Kate finally thinks I’ve gotten out of my bubble. I just scored interesting details from a CEO! She’ll be thrilled.

“In exchange,” I should have seen this coming. “I’d like to know about you.”

The blonde, Carol, I saw from before steps through his office doors.

“Mr. Grey, your next appointment is here--”

“Cancel it. We’re not finished.”

“Yes, sir.”

What?

“No, it’s fine. I have plenty. Don’t let me get in the way.” I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear, biting down on my lip. I don’t want him to think he has to be overly generous toward me just because I don’t have the same fire in my personality as Kate did tracking him down.

“I insist.” We’re not really at proper talking distance with him leaning over my shoulder. I feel self conscious but I’m not sure why. The chair slides forward on it’s wheels and I brace the desk with both my hands on the table. Is he. . .?

“Do you mind?”

“Of course, not,” He stays in place, comfortable as can be and annoyance bubbles underneath my skin. “You’re not a reporter so what is your major?”

“English literature,” I answer plainly giving him the same canned responses he gave me at first.

“Who made you fall in love for the first time? The Bronte Sisters, Thomas Hardy, or F. Scott Fitzgerald?”

“Shakespeare, Mr. Grey,” He isn’t completely off the mark, but when I decided I couldn’t study anything else it was first time I had ever read one of Shakespeare’s plays. I feel the heat rising again to cheeks as his voice takes on a smooth, deeper tone.

“These violent delights have violent ends, and in their triumph die like fire and powder, which as they kiss consume,” He pulls away immediately afterward and I’m left breathless. At least I’m not trapped between the chair and the desk anymore.

“Actually, I liked Lady MacBeth,” I think even he knows I’m just being contrary. I can tell by his smirk I’m amusing him. When did this turn into a game?

“Do you have everything you need, Ana?”

“It’s Anastasia,” I press, getting up from the chair. “We’ve only answered four of the questions but I think I have enough.”

He takes the liberty of fetching my recorder to had it off to me and escort me to the door. I’m glad I can get out now.

“I’ll send Katherine copies of the construction plans.”

I think I’ve floundered enough for one day trying to pretend to be something I’m not. He waits at the elevator with me and I step inside quickly once the doors open.

“Until we meet again, Miss Steele.”

“Until then Mr. Grey.”

I don’t notice until I’m on the elevator, and his gaze meets mine, that he has a piece of paper in his hand. I glance down immediately at my notebook and realize the question list once sticking out of my notebook is missing.

I catch his smile just as the doors shut.


	2. #1 Crush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anastasia returns from her interview with Christian and Kate has her two cents about the situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates for this fic will happen more regularly now that I have the basic storyline I want mapped out better. :)

For the first time that day sadness swept in with the sheets of rain pouring down sides of Grey Enterprises. The grey clouds hung lower than usual and the warm, but crisp, breeze had a chill to it. I remember feeling refreshed breathing in the spring air. I exhaled. Something was missing. I don’t remember much of the drive home that day. All I can recall is the distinctive feeling that something had changed. I entered Christian Grey’s office and somehow left with less than I had started with.

I should have know then.

But I suppose it’s the same with killers. You’re never very sure the exact moment when your sanity begins slipping away piece by piece until you have lost so much of it you can’t remember who you used to.

\------------------------

I’m ecstatic when I finally see the view of Kate and I’s townhome. Kate’s parents bought her the place for college and I pay her next to nothing as her roommate. It’s total bliss. I really lucked out, and I’ve always felt bad for not having much to give Kate in return. Today I finally have something that might make her smile.

I raced up the steps and through our front door. Kate was right where I left her; on the couch, in her ridiculous pajamas she saves for sick days, curled up with her laptop.

“You’re home!” Kate chirps with all the energy of a kid on Christmas.

“You won’t believe what I got.”

We spent the next few minutes going over the interview. After, I finally got my moments of peace with Kate eagerly listening to the audio recording I made. I’m glad the digital recorder did it’s job since I stopped taking notes halfway through the interview like a complete idiot. I was so encompassed by _him._ The way he smelled so close behind me, the way he spoke ever so softly into my ear.

The way I felt trapped between the chair and the desk.

“ _Shit--_ ” I was so lost in my thoughts I had forgotten I moved on to making myself something for dinner. Droplets of blood dripped down onto the cutting board. I rushed over to the sink to rinse off the wound. It cut clean. Maybe it won’t hurt in a little bit.

“Hey Ana. . .” Kate finally pulls down her headphones, looking contemplative. I guess she needed some clarification. It was only my first interview.

“Look I swear I tried to get him to answer as much as--”

“That’s not it,” She held up her hand. “I wanted to ask if you were okay.”

I must have looked so puzzled because the next second she went into full K-Babble.

“You know I worry about you and I’m really grateful you went to this interview for me, but--are you sure everything went okay? At the end it sounds little like he was trying to bribe you with something. If he was, you know I can’t use his statements at all.”

While I patiently waited out her accusation, I turned my attention back to cleaning up the mess I made cutting my finger. Kate’s all about ethical journalism and I like that about her. I guess that’s why I practiced so hard in front of the mirror this morning and made sure I looked okay for the interview.

“He didn’t bribe me. He offered to let you feature some new business plans exclusively as a ‘gift’,” I air quoted with the knife still in hand. “For telling him the truth.”

“The truth is he sounds exactly as egotistical as I thought he would.”

“I don’t know. I thought he was. . .interesting,” I cringed immediately. There goes my brain to mouth filter not working.

Kate whistled, waggling her eyebrows at me. I rolled my eyes in disgust. I knew where this was going and I didn’t like it already.

“Anastasia Steele finds a man interesting? That’s one for the headlines.” Kate outstretches her arms dramatically and I groan. “Anastasia finally has her first boyfriend: Multi-Billionaire Hottie Christian Grey.”

“Will you shut up already? I don’t like him. I just said he was interesting.”

“I’m kidding. You said you were asexual anyway. At least that’s our current guess.”

“I just haven’t felt attracted to anyone.”

“That’s okay, you know?”

“I know it’s okay,” I chop a vegetable particularly hard. I still don’t feel attracted to anyone. . . right?

“And you know it’s okay if you’re attracted to him anyway too, right?”

I don’t answer this time, just sigh.

“Don’t give me that tone of sigh. You told me how your mom is--” I glare at her. “ _Was_ \--but that doesn’t mean you’re doomed to remarry twice, Ana.”

“She remarried three times.”

I hear Kate groan and feel just a little satisfied. She tends to think I’m sheltered but I think I’m just disillusioned to romance. I’ve read so many pieces of fiction I can’t help thinking that from Eurydice to Desdemona love is always more trouble than it’s worth. Even when it’s as pure as the butterflies I get in my stomach thinking about whether or not I could be attracted to Christian Grey.

Why would he be interested in me anyway? I’m just a 24-year-old college student with a lot to learn and he’s, well, _him._ I hate to be stereotypical and say he is way out of my league, but even if he wasn’t what would we have in common? Sure, we talked about literature for a moment and he seems pretty knowledgeable.

I find myself biting my lip.

I guess I should have been paying more attention--

“Ana? _Ana._ Where did you go just now?”

I smile sheepishly. No, I don’t think I like him. I don’t want to give this up yet. It’s been so long since I’ve had a really good friend like Kate. High school was a shit show for me. I’m finally living with someone who gets me and entertaining the thought of dating someone makes me think I’ll lose this. The alternative is Kate going off with the man or woman of her dreams, and I haven’t reconciled with that either.

“I was thinking about him.”

Kate smiles back offers up a hug. I accept because I know this is how she shows she cares even if I’m a bit awkward with physical affection at times. Kate holds me at arm’s length afterward.

“Try to get some rest, okay? That might get off him your mind.”

“No, I still have to make my shift at Clayton’s. Don’t wait up for me.”

“Seriously? They couldn’t even give you the day off for this?”

“I didn’t request it and it’s okay. I like working there and it’ll be a chance to clear my head,” I pull away from her to start packing my dinner into tupperware. I stow it away with utensils into my purse.

“If you say so.”

\----

If I had known, then, just how impossible Kate’s suggestion was I might have been able to save myself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates for this fic will happen more regularly now that I have the basic storyline I want mapped out better. :)


	3. Draining

You know how they tell you in movies and in documentaries killers usually find their murder weapon based on what their issue is? Ted Bundy raped and murdered women because his girlfriend left him, Jeffrey Dahmer found men he could cannibalize to keep a part of them inside him always, and the BTK killers--well the _modus operandis_ is in the name.

BTK.

Bind. Torture. Kill.

Interestingly enough bondage takes a large knowledge base to accomplish and the power a Dominant exerts over their Submissive could be considered torture from the outside. What separates bondage from torture is the control the Submissive has over the situation. The Submissive can say no at any time with their safe word, and they dictate to their Dominant what they’re willing to play out. We call them scenes in BDSM culture. Christian gave me a safeword but I never used it. I never thought I could.

I thought if I ever told him no he would just keep going. I thought if I ever told him no he wouldn’t be interested in me anymore because I wasn’t adventurous enough for him. What does a virgin have to offer a man who has the charisma to get whatever he wants?

As it turns out I had plenty to offer. I had wealth beyond your wildest imagination. I hadn’t been corrupted. I didn’t seek him out. What I offered was a new adventure where he had to try so much harder for my attention than any other woman he has ever met, and he desired me twice as much for it.

\-----

I’ve worked at Clayton's for as long as I’ve been in Portland. At a craft fair I met Sharleen Clayton at a stand where older women from the community were restoring the bindings of old books. These weren’t famous books, but books they had all read from their childhood and decided to sell for pennies back to the public. They called it sharing past with the future. I always liked the sound of that.

I stopped to talk to her for hours about our favorite authors and eventually she ended up offering me a job at her new shop. I’ll never forget how scared I was to be going off to college all by myself in Portland. Sharleen has always been like a second mom to me and it felt comforting to know I was going to be okay on my own. Her son was trying to get onto his feet too, and she wanted him to have other employees who were his age so he would stop thinking about trying to take over the family business.

She told me she wanted us to have our own dreams. Her dream was that hardware store. Sharleen liked to get creative with woodwork, making her own canvas for paintings, and working alongside her husband to make the most beautiful furniture pieces I’ve ever seen. They built this business together and they’re always so happy together. I think if I ever fall in love I want what they have.

No one ever writes about their kind of relationship in novels.

I was in the middle of tying my apron into place when Sharleen caught sight of me.

“I thought you weren’t coming into work today.”

“I wanted to make sure you weren’t closing by yourself. Plus, I got back a little bit early from Kate’s interview.”

From just on the other side of the hall, “Ana, you’re back!”

“Hey, Paul,” I don’t have to try with Paul. His personality is a lot different from mine but I find we have the best conversations. He is always excited to tell me about something, anything, in intricate detail and I’m more the listening type anyway. On occasion I do toss in my opinion but I like his energy. Anyway, isn’t it great when people are excited to see you and tell you about the things they love?

Paul leaves before Sharleen and I every night so he can make it to one of his late night classes.

I’m done with work as usual and headed back to a quiet apartment. I can hear the slow chattering sound of Kate typing away at her computer and I just leave her be for now. I make my way to my room.

Work was routine but somehow not as enjoyable as usual. It’s because I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I had my mind seduced by the idea of him. I imagined, for a second, I was in Sharleen’s position where I also owned my own business. Maybe then I’d be on equal footing.

I stripped down and threw on a baggy t-shirt and a black pair of yoga pants. Work couldn’t keep Christian Grey completely off my mind. I swear it’s like Kate’s psychic sometimes. Somehow she knows. Somehow she knows and the typing on her keyboard stops. A few seconds later I hear “Once Upon A December” playing from her laptop and then the typing continues. I’m instantly soothed by the melody. A lot of girls complain about sharing names with famous characters but I like _Anastasia_. Her movie gives me hope maybe I'll have a life just as interesting as a Duchess one day. Maybe some of her grace will rub off on me so I can stop being s awkward around people. I lie  down in bed, wrap myself up in the quilt my mother made for me, and drift off to sleep in minutes. That night I dream of dark places, bleak, cold white floors, and grey eyes.

I’m woken up not by my alarm but the soft melody of my ring tone. It’s Enya singing “Flora’s Secret” as my mom’s personal choice. I think it’s fitting. I grasp for my phone with my face buried in the pillows. On the fifth attempt I finally grab it and swipe.

“Hi, Mom,” I barely stifle a yawn. What time is it anyway?

“Hey sweetheart, how are you?”

She does this every few days. Somewhere in my mom’s mind she rationalized I might die if she doesn’t call me every few days. I’ve learned to tolerate it. I have to. She is happy in Georgia with her new fiance, but I can’t say I’m confident it will last.

“I’m alright. It’ll be finals soon.”

“Honey, I’m so proud of you. Good luck. I know you’ll do fine,” This is why I like hearing her voice no matter what time she calls me. Maybe she’s on Husband Number Four but she never stopped being my mother. She is the type of mom everyone wishes they had; the one who knows she never gave you a stable life because she can’t control how romance ends so she makes the best of everything anyway. She doesn’t buy me gifts. She tells me what I need to hear and that’s her caring about me.

“Thanks, Mom. How are things in Georgia? I think you’re starting to get an accent.”

“Now wait just a minute, young lady--”

“ _See?_ I can hear it,” I laugh.

“You’re in a good mood, did you meet someone?”

How does she do that?

“No.”

“Are they a boy or girl?”

“Mom I told you I’m--”

“I know. You just seem different today. The ‘head over heels’ kind of different. But, I’m sorry. I know you told me to stop asking.”

I sigh.

“His name is Christian Grey.”

“Jesus Christ, Duchess, you sure ain’t aimin’ low.”

“You’re doing it again.”

“Don’t change the subject.”

I giggle because she made a point of correcting her accent again yet again. Apparently living in Georgia for four years has done that to her. She has been with Tristan since I started college.

“I interviewed him. I was going to call you yesterday but I had to close at Clayton’s.”

“Is he nice?”

“Mom he’s. . .”

“Tall, dark, and handsome?”

I blushed but somehow I think she could tell through the phone. Well, she can definitely tell now. My mom switched to FaceTime without even asking. Of course I look like rats nests in my hair overnight, and my pajamas are as scrub as it gets. My mom, on the other hand, already has the luxury of wearing her summer dresses. Her hair is cropped short, strawberry blond, and she smiles back at me with all those those gorgeous laugh lines. She hates them but I like them. Maybe I'll smile as much as she has in life and have the same thing. I'd like to inherit that instead of my mother's horrible reputation with men.

“Duchess, I want you to be careful. I’m sure he’s a nice guy but don’t let him give you the runaround, got it?”

“Yes, Mom,” I answer dutifully with all the irreverence of a teenager.

“I’m serious, Ana. You’ve never been interested in anyone. Romance isn’t like those books you read. You’re--”

“--I’m going to break my heart no matter who I choose as my first. Mom, I'm not you. What if he doesn't dump me?”

You know how all kids get the sex talk from their parents? I got the sex talk from my mom except she went into the amount of detail teenagers have nightmares about. I guess I don’t regret it now since I have my IUD that regulates my ridiculous hormones. She knows I don’t have sex, and haven’t, but it helps. I don’t get the mood swings I used. I shouldn’t have been so hard on her back then. I wanted to just tune her out but I’m glad she never gave up on me no matter how stubborn I got.

But sometimes? I don't want her to be so pessimistic about love.

We’re stuck staring at each other after what I said. My mom rubs at her temple with a sigh and I mumble a half-assed apology.

“Sometimes you can be so cruel.”

This is why Kate just doesn’t get it. I’m intrigued by love but how can I ever believe in it?

“I’ve got to get in the shower and get ready for classes,” I use this as a throw away phrase. She knows I don’t want to talk about it anymore. We exchange two rigid ‘I love you’s and hang up.

My life proceeds pretty normally for the next week. Kate and I throw ourselves into our studies. It isn't until Friday when we both have so much cabin fever from doing nothing but class, and sitting at home studying, we finally decide to get the hell out of the house.

Kate drives. She always insists on driving since my car is genuine vintage in all of its glorious imperfection. My car is a beaten up, but sturdy, 1980’s beetle. It was the only car I could afford with all the money I had saved up the summer before I left for college the first time. She runs but Kate calls her Danger Wheels.

Kate, on the other hand, sends us cruising down the highway in her red convertible. It's last year's model from Audi. Her father bought it for her as a graduation present.

“It's sunny, the breeze is warm,” Kate takes in a deep breath and I lean my seat back so I can watch the blue sky whip by. “Let's do the art walk.”

I perk up instantly. “Can we stop by Marisol’s gallery?”

“Don’t you even have to ask?”

Parking sucks for the Art Walk. We have a pull into the neighborhood a block south of Flanders Street.

Once we are finally near the main galleries I feel more comfortable. Today is definitely the day I can get Christian Grey off my mind. It’s been a week now.

I must have been lost in thought again with Kate K-Babbling next to me. That's the only time she ever grabs my hand to drag me off somewhere.

“Hey wait--”

“If you were listening I'd have more sympathy.”

“I’m sorry. I've had a lot on my mind lately.”

She guides me to a door and we go right inside and up a flight of stairs. Why is she so eager? Kate usually only likes the jewelry and sculptures. This gallery is full of photography.

“Here we are!” She exclaims. When I see the picture of myself salsa dancing at a wedding as the first photograph in the series I know exactly where we are.

“Is this José’s work?”

Kate gives my hand a squeeze. “Yes! I saw an ad for it while you were off in LaLa Land so I thought we should come see what's new. This is from his cousin’s wedding, right?” Kate leans and nods as if she sees something I don't. I laugh nervously.

“Yeah, his uncle Ramon tried to teach me how to salsa dance.”

“You look like you're having a good time.”

“Hey you two. Long time no see.”

I let go of Kate's hand before I have the chance to see José eyeing us both. Instead I launch right into hugging him.

“Jerk, you didn't tell me you were already a working professional,” I place a kiss on his cheek like I always do and he does the same to me. His family is from Spain so I've never felt bothered by it.

Kate gets the same greeting and a hug.

“You’re never look at your texts.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No, you don't,” They both scold me in unison and I hold my hands up in surrender.

“I texted you on Tuesday. When you didn't answer I just called Kate.”

Kate gives me her signature Know-Nothing smile. So, going here today wasn't by accident even.

“Anyway, I'm really glad you're getting exposure. It'll be a good hobby for you so you don't drown in engineering all the time.”

Kate keeps close to me today while José runs us through his collection and I can't figure out why. It isn't until I realize she keeps inserting herself between us that it clicks. It's in the gentle way they have conversation when they're both boisterous, ridiculous personalities. Gentle because it's polite I should say.

I feel Kate’s hand slip on the small of back leading me to the refreshments.

“Hey what's the big deal?”

“Are you blind?”

I grab a water cup from the table.

“No?”

“I know you lack a get-a-boyfriend gene, but José is not being very subtle.”

I don't answer her and just walk away. José and I are practically family. I can't think about him that way. I try to strike up conversation with him but now it feels forced. I can feel Kate's eyes on my back. He knows it wouldn't work. Especially now.

See, this is why I can't think about Christian Grey. The more I think about him the more guilty I feel.

My mom warned me about people breaking my heart, but she never taught me how to not them myself.

“I want to buy the print you have at the front.”

“I can just give you a copy, Ana.”

“No, I want to pay for it. You worked so hard for this.”

When Kate and I leave, I clutch the print of myself dancing the night away in high heels. High heels! Me, the most uncoordinated girl in the world. I danced and I felt free.

A part of me wanted to keep that moment to myself so I bought it. A crushing, aching sensation entrapped my heart. I'm afraid. I'm afraid that I'll never be as happy as I was in this picture. I'm afraid of telling Kate I think I have more of a boyfriend gene than she thinks. I'm afraid to tell her why Christian Grey is such a fixation for me the same way this photograph lets José look in on a private moment of my happiness.

José and I have always had a lot in common.

We both always want things we can't have.

“Do you want to get lunch? My treat,” I stow the photograph away in my bag. “Your favorite sushi place is down here.”

“I'll let you spoil me just this once,” Kate does a dramatic hair toss and gives me smoldering blue eyes that send me into a fit of giggles. “I'll be the best date you've ever had.”

“Stop it, people are going to talk.”

“So what? You can't live your life expecting to fit into everyone's expectations, Duchess.”

“Not you too--”

“It’s so cute! I can't believe your mom calls you _Duchess._ You're such a spoiled brat,” She gives me the most wicked smile and suddenly I regret everything. “I’m buying you a crown.”

“I can take Jose to lunch instead,” I flush a little because Kate leans in, getting close to my ear, speaking softly.

“Do you want him to whisper sweet nothings to you?”

No, but I can think of someone else.

\-----

I don’t think Kate knew then. They were all so supportive of me falling in love because I wanted to, not because I supposed to. I think if I had some type of time machine I’d go back and tell myself I didn’t have to make up excuses to my friends.

Sorry, I mean that I didn’t have to think might hate me for being so weird. I’m the prime example of a late bloomer, I guess.


	4. Interlude 1: Faulty Equipment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been awhile since I've updated but I wanted to toss in another chapter now that inspiration has hit! Enjoy.

“Like I was saying. We went off to get sushi and--”

“ _Shit!_ Hold on, the battery died,” Kate fidgets with the camera, and I finally decide to breathe. I toy with the wedding band on my left hand, as I always do when I’m nervous, and let her fuss with the technicalities. “We can call it quits for today if you want.”

I shake my head no, but Kate can tell by my sigh this is tiring. “I want to tell you the whole story. I gave you exclusive rights for a reason and you said you have a deadline.”

“My deadline is flexible with investigative journalism, and no one else can break this news except for me. What are you being so fussy about--”

“You know why,” And yet here she is asking me again and again and again if I want to talk about my story. Do I want the public in my face anymore than they have been? It’s exhausting enough to have paparazzi outside every single damn day, bulbs flashing in my face. I rub a few fingers at my temple, staving off what I know has to be an oncoming headache. 

“No, actually, I don’t get why we’re doing this,” Kate takes the seat next to me and grasps at my hand. How long have we known each other now? Six years? Some habits never die. She wants to be empathetic but I know, as much as she does, this story will send her career skyrocketing.

I pull my hand from hers and decide to fuss with my hair, my ring, anything else but paying direction attention. 

Kate sighs, crossing her arms over her chest, looking away probably. This is what happens. We argue. We pretend not to see each other until the silence becomes so uncomfortable we’re at it again. 

“The trial starts next week,” I say changing the subject on purpose.

“I’ll be covering it,” Her response is robotic in a way. Neither of us are looking forward to it.

“I don’t want you to be there--”

“And why the hell not?!” There she goes. Off like a firecracker. 

“You’re hearing this story once. You don’t need to hear again with a defence attorney involved--”

“I’m going to work on the camera,” She gets back up, putting space between us. I look at her this time, trying to read her expression. There’s nothing but anger I can pick up on. “I’ll plug it into the wall so we can keep going.”

For a moment I’m just staring at her hands, fussing needlessly with equipment that she knows how to work but is too frustrated to figure out when she’s worrying. Her bracelets are designer. Her nail polish is flawless and elegant as always. The cuffs of her blouse look to expertly pressed she walked straight off the runway in them. Then I spot her wedding band. I look away.

“Ready when you are.”

I take in a deep breath. “Do you want me to pick where I left off or skip it?”

“Tell it how you want to, Duchess. It’s your story,” Even with her deadpan tone she managed a term of endearment. Maybe we’ll actually get through this. We have a week to record and sift through all the content.


End file.
